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friend poetry

là dalla finestra nella vecchia casa
ho vinto la corsa
nel porto di nuovo York
il giorno è fatto
un miglio dietro
al lato di un campo raso
ciò è la canzone della gioventù
mi levo in piedi nel tempo grigio freddo
short e dolce ed abbiamo arrivato alla fine di esso
agito i miei capelli nel vento della mattina
aumentato dai morti
in tutte le cose non parlate di
su e giù va
composto del loveliness da solo

 



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